


But Who Prays for Satan?

by AgeOfAlejandro



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst and Feels, BEHOLD! A MAN!, Canon Non-Binary Character, Crowley has lots of gender, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Greek stuff is for chapter 4 jsyk, Historical Figures, Humor, M/M, Meditations on free will, Millennia of it, Mix of canons, Mutual Pining, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, This story takes itself less seriously than it sounds I promise, Various other Greek philosophers, aziraphale has none, but a lot of angst, historical events, idk the whole gang probably, various biblical events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgeOfAlejandro/pseuds/AgeOfAlejandro
Summary: “Adam was not alone in the Garden of Eden, however, and does not deserve all the credit; much is due to Eve, the first woman, and Satan, the first consultant.”- Mark Twain’s Notebook, 1867Mark Twain was wrong. It wasn’t Satan in the Garden, it was Aziraphale. A role reversal AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve elected to mix canons a bit here, including the whole “angels and demons look more or less alike* and even properly Good angels are bastards a little bit” But also in keeping with both canons, Aziraphale is a little bit owlish, just as Crowley was a bit snakey. Footnotes, btw, are all in the end notes. I will figure out how to link them for reader ease but rn, this is how it's working lmfao.
> 
> This is going to be a lot of "Aziraphale and Crowley's backstory" until we get to canonical events. These events will not consistently overlap with all the ones we see in the show, and since I could spend literally YEARS researching the settings, I'm gonna cop to it up front that while I am doing some research for historical accuracy, I'm not going to pretend it's particularly in depth bc it's not. 
> 
> Also, many, many thanks to my betas, Dintay and naschkatze97!
> 
> *unless they want to, anyway.

“But why, Mother?” he asked her, her visage shifting between a dizzying number of faces.

She wore his for a moment. “Because I asked you to,” She replied with a raised eyebrow. “And it is your _purpose_ to follow and serve my plan.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knitted together in a way She found endearing but wasn’t about to tell him. “I...I just have questions, and--”

Her face shifted again to someone else, someone who Was Not Yet. “Are you questioning _Me_?”

“No,” he said hurriedly. “I just seek to know, so I can better serve you.”

God sighed. “You know, my child, in your heart of hearts, that is _not_ why you ask.”

Aziraphale twisted his hands nervously. “It’s just…”

“It’s just _what?_ ”

“I...following a plan without understanding the logic,” he said, closing his eyes. She knew, there was no point in lying. “Is alien to me.” He opened them, a blue grey in color. “And I can’t help but want to know _why_.”

And there it was, She thought. His moment had arrived.

“Mother?” he asked, tentatively. 

A hole in Heaven opened beneath him and he plummeted through it.

_Goodbye_ , _my child,_ She thought as his screams echoed up to her and she withdrew her Grace.

* * *

Falling had been like having his bones cracked open and the marrow sucked out as he spun in the air, unable to control his descent at all. Every instinctive attempt at gaining some control stripped more of his feathers from his wings and the plunge into the sulfur pool had finished the job. 

As his head broke the surface and he dragged himself to the edge, he could feel his body begin to change shape. They were still a mocking white as they burst forth, but his feathers were soft and blunted now at the edge and his wings larger than before. His nails sprouted on both hands and his feet sprouted wickedly curved black talons. He slowly, agonizingly, shifted into what would be his second form. 

And then Aziraphale abruptly snapped back into almost the same shape he’d had before.

* * *

“ _Why_ would you want to keep your celestial name?” the--well, the demon who was now Dagon and also his boss -- asked. His eyebrows inched together like furry worms and his lips twisted sourly as he surveyed Aziraphale.

“Because,” Aziraphale said, picking at his nails with an obsidian blade he’d fletched himself, “I want to.” He looked up at Dagon, his eyes huge and entirely yellow now. “It’s deliciously defiant and it will drive them _mad_ Upstairs. A demon with an _angel’s_ name, now and forever.”

Dagon picked at his teeth with a finger. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose and the other demon eventually shrugged. “If you say so. Can’t make you pick another one, now can I?”

No, he could not.

Dagon harumped. “Anyway, go up to Earth and make some trouble. Them’s your orders.”

Aziraphale nodded and got up, ambling out of Dagon's office and through the halls. His department of Hell was dreary: miserably hot, wet, and dark, with roughly carved walls that were slick with glistening mold. He looked forward to getting out of Hell.

Earth was hot and miserable, too, but in a different way. It was dry, for one, and breezy in a way only the pits outside of the city of Dis were. Another thing it had going for it over Hell, he thought as he took a deep breath, was that it didn’t stink. It smelled -- well, not fresh right now, but considerably more tolerable than Hell. 

Even if the sand he had to wade through to get to the Garden was atrocious.

* * *

The benefit of being a winged creature - whatever the Heaven he was - was that he could just fly over the wall under cover of night. Angel eyes were sharp but his wings were completely silent as he slowly glided through the air. He then spent a few days getting the lay of the land and watching Adam putter around.

He had joined the animals when the human Named them on a lark. Adam had looked at him, big brown eyes thoughtful as his eyebrows drew together, and hummed for a moment. “Owl. A great grey owl,” he’d announced as he pointed at Aziraphale, “that’s you there, with the grey wings and yellow eyes.”

Well, God had put Adam in charge of naming the animals and Aziraphale saw no harm in letting Adam decide what kind of animal he was shaped like - God probably already had the idea for this particular creature anyway.

He liked this human, Aziraphale decided. He was earnest and sweet, petting the animals and sometimes feeding them treats from his large, gentle hands. It was a shame, Aziraphale thought, that he was going to cause some kind of trouble - probably Big Trouble, if he could arrange it - for the poor dear. 

He could feel God when She entered the Garden and he was reasonably certain She’d given him a knowing glance, even if She had not manifested physically. That was probably for the best, he supposed. Might not be safe for any non-angelic types around.

He watched Adam’s eyes drift closed and his breath slow, and then God did Something. Adam grimaced in his sleep, and then another human popped into Being. Aziraphale noticed that the new one was both like and unlike Adam, dark skinned and with the same big brown eyes as God cradled the human gently before depositing them on the ground. But they were shaped differently, shorter than Adam and less broad in the shoulders (but a bit broader in the hip). The new being blinked blearily around the Garden before they looked up at the gigantic Presence that was God at their side. Once you noticed Her, it was hard to notice much else.

God poked Adam awake. “I have made you a helpmate,” She said to him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What do you want to call her?”

The other human - a “her”, like God - settled down with her legs crossed to watch Adam curiously. 

“Mightn’t she want to name herself?” he asked God, hesitant eyes darting between the ‘her’ and Her. “If she’s to be my helpmate and all.”

“I named you,” God said, as patient as She’d ever been. “I ask you to name this person - to Name her _._ ”

“E-Eve?” he hazarded eventually, looking to Possibly-Eve for approval. “And she’ll be a Woman, maybe?”

Possibly-Eve seemed to mull this over for a moment. “The Woman Eve,” she said, rolling the syllables around in her mouth. “I think I like it.”

“The Woman Eve, then,” Adam said, smiling at her. Aziraphale recognized that expression for some reason: he was _smitten_.

* * *

A few months - or what would be months when humans got around to calendars - rolled past, and Aziraphale, in his owl shape, settled on the branch near where Eve snoozed in the twilight one evening. There were no mosquitos yet, luckily for her, and tonight seemed like the perfect night to lead her to the Tree(1). He hooted, a pleasing rhythmic sound to his ears.

She cracked an eye open. "Hmm, you're a great grey owl, aren't you?" she hazarded. "I think that's what Adam named you."

Fluffing his wings, Aziraphale nodded. "He did, yes."

She squinted, both clever eyes open now. "The other animals don't talk."

"I'm one of God's special owls. We're different," he replied, shifting on the branch. It wasn't a lie per se: he'd been specially created just like Eve, and he wasn’t like the other owls in the Garden. 

"Oh." Eve sat up and stretched her arms over her head. She was beautiful, Aziraphale thought, watching her muscles shift beneath her skin. Humans really were a work of art. Whatever, he blinked at his own thought in bewilderment, art even _was_.

“I was wondering if perhaps you could help me?” he asked her, edging up the branch in a display of nerves. “I really am sorry to ask, but I am so _very_ hungry and I can’t pick the fruit I found. I haven’t got thumbs, you see,” Aziraphale said, holding up one foot and flexing his toes. He ducked his head a little, hoping she’d take pity on his poor little hungry bird self.

Eve got up and walked over to his branch, where he was about level with her face. Extending her arm for him to climb on, she said, “Of course I’ll help you.” Her eyes were large and soft, gentle.

“Oooh, thank you,” Aziraphale enthused. “You really are too kind, but I must decline a ride.” He held up and flexed his talons again. “I don’t think these would be pleasant for you.”

She took one talon in her hand, carefully, gently, and examined it. “No, I suspect not.” Eve tilted her head. “But, no matter. Why don’t you show me this fruit tree?” 

Aziraphale extended his wings to gently shoo her away. “Of course. Could you move back, please? I need a little room to get in the air.”

Eve brushed a fingertip along a feather, which felt sort of strange and almost unpleasant, before she obliged.

With that, he leapt into the air and glided soundlessly towards the Tree. He paused occasionally, circling back or landing on a visible branch to wait for her. The Garden was not so big but humans were not, evidently, much meant for wandering around at dusk.

Eventually, they made it and guileless, sweet Eve - and Aziraphale would always feel a little guilty - stepped back and looked around warily as he settled on a branch. “We’re not supposed to eat from the Tree.”

Aziraphale tilted his head at her and blinked. “Whooo told you that?”

“Adam. He said God told him not to.”

“How do you know Adam is telling you the truth? Did he say why?”

Eve pulled her head back and looked at Aziraphale. “No, Adam didn’t say why. I don’t know if he knows, really.” Her expression turned worried. “Do...do you think he’d tell me something that wasn’t true?”

“Well,” the demon said mildly as he shrugged the best he could as an owl, “maybe. Perhaps he just wants the fruit all for himself. But even if he _is_ telling you the truth, why would God put something in the Garden She didn’t want you to have? Did She really mean for you to not eat it, or is this some kind of test?”

Eve’s eyes grew wide in the low light. “Why would She test us like that?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale replied with absolute honesty. “She works in mysterious ways. Maybe She’s hoping that you _do_ eat it but She’s just telling you not to so that you really consider whether you should.”

“Should I?”

“I think you ought to _think_ about it.” He fluffed his feathers and shrugged again. 

Eve walked over to the tree and leaned against the trunk, looking between Aziraphale and the Fruit as she casually invented overthinking. “It’s even on a branch that’s the perfect height,” she murmured, chewing idly on the inside of her lip a little.

And with a single bite, the Fall of Humankind had started. After a second, he watched the two humans be summarily expelled for the sin of knowledge.

Aziraphale shook his head and looked skyward. _Always the greatest sin with you, isn’t it?, wanting to know things._

* * *

He perched on the wall above the eastern gate and looked down at the angel guarding it. From above, he looked familiar as he paced nervously. Then the angel glanced upwards and Aziraphale paused. _I can’t even remember his name._

But, as always, he couldn’t help himself and flew down to perch on a stone that jutted out from the wall.

“Well, hello, pretty bird,” said the angel when he caught sight of the owl.

Aziraphale could practically hear the other's nerves jangling as the angel other approached him. Watching the other’s hand stretch out, he very briefly considered nipping him but elected not to when the angel smiled at him like _that_ ; gentle and open, under the anxiety.

“I’m not really a bird,” Aziraphale said, closing his eyes as the angel stroked along a wing. This was much nicer than when Eve had touched his feathers.

“I know,” he replied with a small smile and petting him anyway. “You’re the Owl of Eden.”

Aziraphale hummed, peeking open an eye at him. “Aren’t you supposed to have a sword?” He nudged the angel’s hand away with a wing and shifted into his more usual form.

The red haired angel sighed and muttered something as the demon moved to stand next to him.

Aziraphale caught it perfectly, but he’d always been a bit of a shit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Fine,” he said and threw up his hands. “I gave it to them! I couldn’t just let them go out into the world _empty handed_! She’s already pregnant and it’s--”

“I know,” Aziraphale said and folded his wings behind his back. “I came through the desert. Almost got eaten by an animal for my trouble before I realized I could just fly.” He wondered if the angel recognized him, too, and then decided maybe it was better not to know.

They watched the couple fend off a lion, who - unlike the pride in the garden - was decidedly carnivorous. Adam waved the sword and Aziraphale could hear him yelling new and interesting phrases at the beast.

“I think Adam just invented swear words,” Aziraphale said lightly, a mischievous smile crossing his face.

“Swear words?”

“And insults, too,” Aziraphale added, cocking his head towards Adam and Eve. “My, aren’t humans so inventive?”

“I still have no idea what those are,” the angel replied, eyeing Aziraphale. 

“Rude words,” Aziraphale decided as the sky rapidly grew dark, bruised clouds rushing over them like the sea over the shore. “Used to express less-than-positive feelings, at least for now. I’m sure they’ll invent some delightfully perverse use for such things.”(2)

“Oh,” the angel said, squinting at Adam and Eve. “I’m probably supposed to frown on that.”

Aziraphale shrugged and extended his wing, offering to shield the angel from the water that began to fall from the clouds. The redhead looked at him sharply but accepted and siddled under his wing. 

“How can you hear them, anyway?” the angel inquired, glancing at Aziraphale as a smile danced at the edge of his lips.

Tapping his ears, Aziraphale shrugged. “I don’t know, but they’re sharper than they were before.”

“Oh. Bet that’s handy.” The angel moved a little closer to him as the wind picked up. 

Tilting his wing to shelter his companion a little better, the demon replied idly, “Yes, it is.”

The angel looked up at the sky and hummed. "Poor things," he said, lifting his hand into the air to feel the falling water on his palm. "At least it's warm, I suppose."

"And a little kinder on bare feet," Aziraphale mused. He held his hand flat above his eyebrows to shield his eyes from the drops. "They don't even have _sandals_." 

The demon couldn't directly see his companion around his wing but he heard the hiss of his inhaled wince. "Good point," he sighed. After a moment, the angel added contemplatively, "You're not what I expected."

"And _how_ many demons have you met, exactly?" Aziraphale asked archly. 

"Alright, just you, just the one, but--"

"But nothing." He sighed. "Look, let's not talk about it. A demon can get in an awful lot of trouble for--"

"Less than demonic behavior?"

"Yes," Aziraphale replied and tilted his wing to let some of the water that had accumulated trickle down the back of the angel's robe.

His companion squawked with outrage. "What was that for?"

* * *

“That was a _damn_ good job!” Dagon said and clapped him on the back. Aziraphale considered the merits of cutting off his boss’s arm. “We really did not expect this kind of thing and you made Her pet project Fall! Bet that stung, didn’t it? Her little primates took after _us_ , not those stick-up-their-collective-arse angels, all because of your little trick!”

Aziraphale stepped as far as he could politely justify from Dagon, almost out of arm’s reach, and gave him a stiff smile. “I was just doing my job.” Aziraphale sniffed internally. He had _hardly_ tricked her, once he’d gotten her over to the Tree. 

“You’ll get employee of the month, I’m sure of it,” Dagon replied, nodding firmly. “Top of your CV.”

_What in Satan’s name was a CV?_ “Ah, yes, quite a feather in my wing, I suppose.”

“I’ve been told you’ll have your pick of assignments for this,” Dagon told him as they walked back to his office.

“Well,” Aziraphale drawled. “I don’t suppose there’s an assignment on Earth, is there? I’ve, ah, got experience with humans already, and--”

“There is, yes,” Dagon replied, nodding. “I was going to give that to -- well, that doesn’t matter anymore because it’s yours.”

“Ah, thank you,” Aziraphale said, inwardly grateful to escape a desk job in Hell now that things were rolling properly. 

“You’ve earned it. You’ll be our consultant on Earth,” Dagon replied. “Commendation in your file and all. Get yourself to Supplies for a corporation as soon as possible and then go make more trouble, alright?”

* * *

Supplies was miserable, even for Hell. It was hot and stuffy, humid, and it smelled dirtily fleshy in a way that burned his nose. It was, Aziraphale would come to find, the smell of particularly bad body odor and he would think of Hell every time he smelled it thereafter. 

Fortunately, as the consultant on Earth he’d rarely be back. Aziraphale fished through the corporations, looking for something as close to his natural form as he could find. He was a shapeshifter, like all demons, but he was also of the 'work smart, not hard' mindset.

Eventually, he found the right one. It was the correct height, had the right hair color, and was a little soft around the middle. He liked being a little soft around the middle; the extra padding was comfortable. The corporation was already breathing before he even slipped it on, which was slightly unsettling. But it fit as well as he supposed an off the rack meat suit was going to(3).

“Sign here, here, and here,” the demon behind the checkout desk said, hardly looking up from her other work as she tapped a finger on the appropriate places. The rat on her shoulder shifted around and stared, dead eyed, at Aziraphale as he signed the paperwork. 

“You won’t need to eat, breathe, or do any of the messy stuff humans have to unless you chose,” she said as he shuffled the pages around. “Try not to let it die, though, because then you’ll have to come for another corporation and we aren’t exactly made of flesh down here.”

“Yes, thank you,” Aziraphale as he pushed the papers towards her and then sauntered out of Hell.

* * *

The first thing he did was check in on Eve and Adam. He perched on a rock that stuck out of the cliffside, above the cave the humans were living in at the moment. They seemed to be doing alright, he thought as Adam roasted some sort of rodent over the flaming sword.

Eve was the first to spot him and she glared at Aziraphale. Heaving herself to her feet, she stomped over and picked up a rock.

“You tricked me!”

He ducked the stone when she flung it at him, nearly clipping his shoulder. “Not really,” he replied, taking the opportunity to move to a higher perch while she looked for another stone.

“Fuck you,” she sneered, throwing her next rock.

It bounced off the cliff a few feet below Aziraphale’s new perch. “I admit I used one to get you to the tree, but after that all I _really_ did was suggest you consider what the right answer to her test was. Because it _was_ a test, obviously. Blame God for making you a curious species and then telling you not to eat low hanging fruit from the tree _She_ put there.”

Eve turned around. “Adam,” she said sweetly, “kill him for me, please?”

Adam just rubbed his face and sighed. Aziraphale flew off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Gabriel had decided they really needed to harass Cain with something and thus created the first mosquito. God had never entirely approved but they were handy when you wanted a nice old fashioned plaguing.
> 
> 2) Aziraphale was correct, of course. The Australians have since turned this into an art form.
> 
> 3) A fresh corporation was a little psychically itchy and didn’t fit quite right in the shoulders, but that was to be expected in an off the rack body.


	2. The Deluge and the Tower of Babel

**_The Deluge_ **

* * *

* * *

There weren’t that many humans yet so where they crowded in large numbers, Aziraphale quickly followed. Groups of them were so  _ easy _ to tempt and he had a quota to fill, after all.  He did not, however, expect to see Crowley amongst them. Ought to have though, he thought as he wove his way through the crowd.

“What’s all this for?” Aziraphale asked, coming to a stop next to the angel. There was a huge boat, a line of animals, and a scattering of humans up on the deck. He watched one of Noah’s sons haul a sack of grain up the gangway, wending his way between the animals.

“Well, you see,” Crowley drawled, stalling for time, “God’s a bit...unhappy...at the moment.”

“So...?” Aziraphale asked, making a circular gesture in the air with his hand.

Unlike other non verbal communications between beings in the future, Crowley understood exactly what Aziraphale meant.  _ Go on, what’s that mean? _

“Noah and his family are collecting two of every animal, and then they and his family will, ah, stay on the boat.”

“That’s a funny choice of habitation, isn't it? What does this have to do with God being unhappy?” Aziraphale said idly, suspecting that Crowley wasn’t telling him something. His brows knitted together briefly as he gave his counterpart a sidelong glance. The unicorns, apparently fed up with the queue, decided to bolt and the pair watched them dash past with a whinny. 

“It’s only for a little while,” Crowley said, his nerves jangling so loudly Aziraphale could almost hear them again. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and his fist clenched reflexively under his biceps. “Forty days or so, I think.”

“Did they build this boat while they wait for the contractors to finish a house with a zoo?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, arms akimbo as he turned halfway towards Crowley. That his other question went unanswered did not escape his notice. “That’s  rather a waste of resources.” It wasn’t like this area was swimming in trees and what was the point of collecting the animals?

“There’s a big storm in the works,” Crowley said eventually after dropping his arms to his sides. He could probably light the ark aflame with the intensity of his gaze, the demon thought. 

“So big they need this boat? And two of every kind and one rather large family aboard?” Aziraphale replied with creeping horror, both eyebrows rising to his white gold hairline. “What about everybody else?”

“What do you  _ think? _ ” Crowley ground out, clenching his fists again as his shoulders rose to his ears.

Abruptly, Aziraphale's horror ceased creeping and crashed down on him instead. “ _ Even the children? _ ” He gasped when Crowley nodded, the angel's face scrunching up in abject sorrow. “You can’t kill  _ children! _ ” 

“It’s part of the Plan,” Crowley replied tightly, refusing to look at Aziraphale at all now. He closed his eyes instead and took a steadying breath. It hitched halfway through.

“Seems more like something  _ we’d _ do, doesn’t it?”

Crowley elected not to say anything at all to that.

***  
  


A little before the storm rolled in and the bruise black clouds burst with sheets of rain, Aziraphale miracled up an ark, as large as he dared to make it. The demon shuffled as many children onto it as he could safely. They ranged in age from a few months  to late adolescence, and he made sure to collect a few teenage parents. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, that he thought having babies that young was a good idea - he’d seen more girls die in childbirth than he cared to remember - it was that the little ones would need raising still and these teenagers were better than he could ever be childrearing.

God knew what Aziraphale was doing. She couldn’t not, especially once so many lives were snuffed out and there were only a few dozen humans left to pray frantically. He just hoped She wouldn’t interfere.

The waters around their boat, he noticed, were suspiciously calm. He perched on the prow of their little ark in his owl form and the wind didn’t buffet him around as badly as he’d expect from a storm so big it drowned the whole world. He squinted skyward and chose not to question it.  _ Just this once _ , Aziraphale thought at Her. She probably didn’t listen to him anymore, but he was still going to say his piece at Her on the off chance he was wrong.

* * *

* * *

**_Babel_ **

* * *

* * *

Aziraphale wandered around the settled world for a couple centuries after the flood. Sometimes he’d go prod the frontierspeople. There were fewer things binding them to tradition out on the howling edges of humanity and it was easier for them to let loose. Sometimes the demon would go live in a city for a while - things accumulated in cities and accumulation had a remarkable effect on a person’s moral fiber: it weakened it. A rich man was easier to tempt to gluttony or sloth, or yet more greed. 

He kept general tabs on the angel’s whereabouts but didn’t seek him out, disgusted as he was that Crowley had stood by during the flood; in turn, Aziraphale suspected that the reverse was true. Wherever he was, Crowley was somewhere else. When Aziraphale was drinking a rich man’s wine, the angel was busy trying to persuade some poor sick goatherd's flock to follow him back to their pen. When Aziraphale was encouraging a shepherd to consider whether the village headman really had a  _ right _ to all these sheep when his own family was so hungry, Crowley was coaxing a wealthy merchant into clothing the naked.

There really were not yet enough humans again for Crowley’s avoidance to be easy - only a few cities, a handful of towns, and a smattering of villages - but apparently the angel was putting in the effort to avoid Aziraphale.

It was during these years that the demon got bored enough to start what would become the Satanic orders. He taught them rites and magic and cacophonous songs that were as beautiful as any sung in Heaven. Melodies that clashed and intertwined, swirling like wind over the cooling earth at sunset. He taught them to question, to think, to consider their choices, and Aziraphale was very proud of his flock.

He did not, of course, mention in his memos to the Head Office that he encouraged these humans to make their choices independently. What was the point of helping them cultivate their ability to think if they were not free to make their own decisions? So what if sometimes they aligned with whatever God wanted them to do? Ultimately, the mere act of  _ questioning  _ was apparently enough to piss Her off and that was good enough for Aziraphale’s demonic little soul.

* * *

After two or three centuries, the angel stopped being Somewhere Else every time Aziraphale moved to a new place, and the demon had essentially let go of his disgust at Crowley’s complicity in the flood. One blazingly hot and dusty late afternoon in Babel, the demon tracked him down at the marketplace. 

“Crowley!” he called over the bustle of humans, waving as the angel turned around. He was reminded of how much he like being taller than most humans, even if he felt a little bad that that was because of malnourishment on the whole.

His counterpart turned around and smiled awkwardly. “Oh, hullo Aziraphale.” He shuffled a little to the side, his eye contact only fleeting before he was busy looking over the demon’s shoulder. His fists clenched briefly and he said, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” Aziraphale nodded as he finally approached properly. He stuck out his hand. “Glad to see you after all this time.”

Crowley shook his hand, his answering smile more of a grimace. “It was awfully...quiet, without you.”

Aziraphale’s lip quirked up on one side of his mouth. “Yes, I imagine. Only human wiles to thwart - I’m sure they keep you hopping but--”

“They look a little less good on my reports,” Crowley chuckled, seeming to calm down a little.

Laughing, Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, mine, too. ‘Encouraged human to covet his neighbor’s wife. No sighting of celestial adversary.’”

Eyebrows bumping quizzically, Crowley asked, “Do they really ask about me?”

“Oh, not exactly,” Aziraphale said airly, “but I am supposed to report sightings and they do respond more enthusiastically when I best you at something.”

“My people do like to hear about successful thwarting,” Crowley acknowledged with a nod. “They send congratulatory memos when I report that I pulled somebody out of one of your little conspiracies of Satanists or what have you.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Aziraphale said, “I didn’t know you were aware of my pet project.”

“I wasn’t until I got a sharp note about my failure to stop their creation,” Crowley sighed.

Aziraphale winced a little. “I’m sorry to hear they gave you a tongue lashing over my Satanists.”

Waving a hand, the angel shrugged. “That was a few decades ago and the orders were already well established by then. I do,” he said apologetically, “have to try to pull people out. For appearance’s sake.”

With a shrug of his own, Aziraphale replied, “I’m sure.” He’d have to pay a little more attention to the orders to make sure the  angel didn’t succeed  _ too _ much. “It’s not like I don’t tempt your lot’s priests. Turn about is fair play. So,” he said, putting on his most charming smile, “care to join me for dinner? There’s a delightful place that has great dolmas and lamb stew.”

Crowley smiled back, slow and warm, “Alright, lead the way.”

***   
  


After dinner, the pair ended up going back to Aziraphale’s home and heading up to the roof. The demon lit the torches that were scattered around the sitting area and poured them each a cup of wine.

Crowley hummed appreciatively at his first sip. “That’s a good vintage,” he said, looking up at the stars and then back at Aziraphale.

The demon nodded as he settled down onto his couch. “Oh, yes, thank you,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve been saving it for a while and tonight seemed like a good night for it.”

“Well, thank you for breaking it out,” Crowley said before taking another sip. 

“I have a few other amphoras. I’ll have to send you home with one.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Crowley replied, his eyes widening as he sat up.

“I insist,” Aziraphale said, waving him off. “What good are things like this if they are not shared?”

“You don’t need to give me anything,” Crowley replied, shifting uncomfortably. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Is this because I’m a demon?”

Looking away briefly and biting his lip, Crowley shrugged. 

Rolling his eyes again hard enough to risk losing one, Aziraphale sighed and took a sip of his wine. “Look, you just moved to the city, yes?”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale rolled the wine around in his mouth, noting the fig note and swallowed. “Consider it a gift of welcome, then. The first of your wine stock.”

Crowley smiled, a little awkward and a breeze tousled his hair, glinting fiery orange in the light. Aziraphale took his silence as an unspoken ‘yes’ and then he changed the subject and talked about nothing in particular for a while. Then, because he  _ was _ still a demon, he decided was going to ask Crowley something even though it would make him uncomfortable again.

"Did you ever tell Her what you did with the sword?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing his companion over his wine cup. The question always burbled up in his mouth like water in a spring whenever they met, but he’d never asked before.   
Aziraphale had seen the sword recently. Conflict had had it in her hands as she’d gutted a man in a tavern(1). He’d deserved it for putting his hands on Conflict like that of course but it was no  small thing that another supernatural being had wielded it. Against a human no less.

Crowley grimaced over his own cup before taking a ponderous sip. “Oh, uh, no, I didn’t. She asked once but I told her I just misplaced it.” He sighed and sprawled out on the couch even further, somehow. “She knows I think, but I’d rather let sleeping dogs lie, you know?”

That the angel had not been given the sandal for that always amazed - and kind of infuriated - Aziraphale. “I understand that, yes.” He adjusted the drape of his robe, which was a lovely, dusty rose color. Crowley’s robe was a deep brown hemp ensemble, which somehow looked fetching in an “I am a simple but effortlessly attractive shepherd” kind of way. It wasn’t elegant per se but the texture looked nice against his long red curls and smooth skin, and the color matched his eyes.

“I still hope it was the right thing, though,” Crowley fretted as he looked up at the stars. “Can’t help but worry. What if  _ you _ gave them knowledge and  _ I _ gave them fire - you did the right thing and I did the wrong?”

Shrugging, Aziraphale said, “We don’t really have free will, not like they do.” He gestured broadly at the city, populated as it was by humans(2) .  _ If  _ anyone _ does, anyway _ , he added mentally. “Whatever it is you did can’t go against the Plan.”

“ _ You _ did,” Crowley replied, sullen over his cup. 

“Not really,” Aziraphale replied. A sharp and bitter smile crossed his face before he took a sip.

Crowley looked like he wanted to say something else but he allowed the moment pass instead. He hummed. “Well, what’s done is done.”

Swallowing his mouthful, Aziraphale nodded. “Very true,” he said. “Now, my dear, did you hear about the tower they’re planning to build?”

Crowley sighed loudly at Aziraphale’s wicked eye twinkling and let his head drop into the backrest briefly. “ _ Yes _ . I’ve been trying to persuade the city council and the king to put the money into fixing the roads and the old north gate instead but they’re very set on building that stupid tower. The Almighty’s not going to be happy about this. They could just  _ pray _ if they want to reach Her, as I’ve reminded the council about three dozen times.”

Aziraphale  _ might _ have privately encouraged Nimrod’s idea that they build it tall enough to bang on Heaven, but he tilted his head in acknowledgement. “No, likely She won’t be.” He privately thought the tower was essentially children showing off for their Mother but if he could do something to annoy Heaven, then he blessed well was going to do it.

The angel peered at him, brown eyes glittering in the torch light. “How much did you have to do with this, you wicked old owl?”

“Not very much,” Aziraphale replied, smirking a little. He  _ had _ only encouraged the height idea. “I’ve mostly just encouraged it a little, entirely because it’ll annoy Heaven greatly.”

“Yes, and you do like irritating my lot,” Crowley said dryly, rolling his eyes.

One side of Aziraphale’s mouth curled up into a smirk. “I can’t help that they respond so deliciously. It’s like they stuck a ‘kick me’ sign on their collective backs.” He sipped his wine again. “They don’t chew you out over it, do they?”

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t think they know you do it because you enjoy poking the lion. They just chalk it up to you being a demon.”

“Good,” Aziraphale responded. “I would prefer you not to bear punishment because I’m--”

“--Incorrigible?”

Laughing, Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, I am incorrigible. But that’s on me, not you, isn’t it?”

“I’ll be sure to let them know you take  _ full _ responsibility.” The angel rolled his eyes dramatically and then smiled at Aziraphale. “You’re not so bad, for a demon.”

“Oh no, I’m a  _ very _ bad demon,” Aziraphale countered, his eyes twinkling as he grinned. “But I’m good company, that I’ll claim.”

“And so  _ humble _ , too.”

Aziraphale smirked outright. “Yes, that’s definitely me.” He swirled his wine cup and asked, “So what do you think God is  going to do to Her little humans when they start hammering on Heaven's floorboards?”

“I don’t know? Send somebody to knock it down?” Crowley looked into his wine sourly. “And She’ll probably have some plan to prevent them from pulling this kind of nonsense again.”

“Oh, please, they’re just showing off for Her.  _ Look at what we can do, Mum! _ ”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “That’s not how Heaven is going to see it.”

Aziraphale shrugged. There was a reason he didn’t really miss being Upstairs.

  
  


Both the angel and the demon watched the tower climb higher and higher by the week. Crowley become increasingly frantic in his attempts to rein them in as construction plowed on, issuing dire warnings every time he met with the king and council. He even tried to enlist Aziraphale several times as a last resort.

When, finally, it was high enough to touch the dome of Heaven -- well, Her reaction was really rather out of bounds, the demon thought. 

Destroying the tower, Aziraphale could sort of understand, but She caused  _ all _ of humanity to speak different languages. Children torn from their parents when they couldn’t understand each other and families shredded like sun crisped fabric. There were now three generations of monoglots who couldn’t bridge  the gap that hadn’t existed a week ago. The wailing throughout the city was painful, even for Aziraphale.

Crowley banged on the demon’s door the night the tower fell until Aziraphale had opened it. 

The angel was incandescently angry, his chest heaved as his breath hissed out through his teeth.  “This is  _ your _ fault,” he hissed, eyes almost glittering with tears in the dark of Aziraphale’s front stoop. He loomed over the demon, taking full advantage of the smallish height difference between them.

Aziraphale was reminded sharply that Crowley was an angel who could likely cause him a lot of trouble if he desired, but the demon made an effort to remain unruffled. Aziraphale shook his head and wrapped his thin plum colored robe around his body a little tighter against the chilly night air. “No it isn’t. I didn’t even suggest they build it, much less that high.”

“You  _ encouraged _ it.”

“I did, yes,” Aziraphale acknowledged with a nod. “But I certainly didn’t  _ make _ them do anything.”

“But--”

“But nothing, angel,” Aziraphale cut in, raising his eyebrows at Crowley as he leaned idly against the door jamb. “Did you warn them there would be consequences?”

“You know that I did,” the angel admitted through gritted teeth.

“They were aware, then, of the choice they were making and thus this is their responsibility. That is the whole point, Crowley.”

“You still shouldn’t’ve,” Crowley growled at him after a moment.

“It’s my job, dear,” Aziraphale replied as he shrugged one shoulder, “to test and tempt them. I completed my duties and the fall out is not on my shoulders when I neither forced the humans nor decided the frankly extreme consequences.”

Crowley growled again and wheeled around on his heel to stalk off into the night.

Aziraphale watched the furious and furiously upset angel retreat into the night and sighed.  _ Best get back to packing _ , he supposed and closed the door. No point in staying in a collapsing city, after all.

He did still claim responsibility in his report Downstairs, though.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) There had only been one war so far and that had been between Upstairs and Down, but humans squabbled like birds. All that psychic energy had to go _somewhere_ , and it went into Conflict - who, obviously, would eventually become War.
> 
> 2) Almost, anyway, aside from one angel, one demon, and Conflict. And Death, but he’s everywhere.


	3. Tyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley visits Aziraphale in the Phoenician city of Tyre, arguments are argued, and thoughts are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can hover over the footnotes or click on them, should you desire to read them. Many thanks, as always, to my beta, for her invaluable input and her remarkable patience with this stubborn beast of a chapter/author.

A few centuries rolled by before the demon saw Crowley again. He’d moved to Tyre and set up shop there, collecting literature when he wasn’t busy tempting and testing the mettle of others. Their stories were quite fascinating and vital, in his opinion, to understanding humans and thus his job. He was currently working as a scribe, which made it much easier to acquire new scrolls.

Crowley turned up one hot and dusty afternoon, lurking at the edge of Aziraphale’s shaded patio in front of his shop. The demon looked up from his desk and put down his pen to gesture his counterpart closer.

“What brings you to my doorstep?” Aziraphale asked, arching an eyebrow. The angel approached cautiously, glancing around at the bustle of humans that passed by, and Aziraphale tilted his head. “I’m not going to bite you, my dear.”

His amber brown eyes met Aziraphale’s. “It’s not that...can we talk - business, mind you - someplace…” he trailed off and tilted his head towards the shop as he shifted on his feet a little, hefting the large bag over his shoulder.

It was very unlikely Crowley wanted to harm him, even if their last meeting had ended poorly, Aziraphale supposed. Crowley was remarkably gentle for an angel, and his shoulders slowly drew up towards his ears as the moment dragged on, his brown eyes flickering between the demon and the rest of the street. Finally, Aziraphale wiggled a finger at his scroll to keep it from getting debris in the drying ink and capped his well. He got up and walked around his desk. “Certainly. I’ve got some nice wine and treats for you to eat if you want.” 

“That sounds quite good,” Crowley allowed with a brief smile and turned to enter Aziraphale’s shop, the demon close behind him.

Aziraphale slipped around the taller being and pushed aside the linen curtain. The shop was dim and warm, stiflingly so in the oppressive summer heat. Dust motes danced in the limited light as the demon led the way through the towering racks and shelves of scrolls, the scent of the kyphi incense he'd lit at dawn lingering in the air.

Finally, they crossed the threshold into the courtyard. There was a brick patio with narrow ceramic gutters that cut through it under a shady awning covered in grapevines. A small fountain tumbled through four basins into a pond filled with lilies and reeds, and a few brightly colored couches and tables were scattered artfully around. The tall fence was covered in vines as well and had been built to channel the breeze. Several fig and pomegranate trees rustled in the wind and there were herb pots here and there. 

It was considerably cooler than the street and it would be hard indeed to peek over the wall of greenery and adobe.

“I take it you’re concerned about being spotted by Heaven?”

“Yeah.” Crowley slowed after they crossed to look around, a little surprised. “This is very nice, Aziraphale. I didn’t take you for a gardener.”

“I’m not, not really,” Aziraphale replied as he grabbed two glass cups from a shelf that sat against the wall. He moved toward the fountain and said, “I have a servant who handles most of this for me, and honestly, I have the garden for more practical reasons.” He looked over at Crowley and gestured broadly. “Take a seat wherever you like.”

“And those reasons would be?” the angel asked as he deposited his bag and settled on one of the couches. Crowley took a moment to spread out his woad blue dress over his crossed legs before he untied his sinus[1]. He sighed with relief.

Aziraphale fondly watched Crowley close his eyes and with a shrug, the demon walked over to the shady fountain to fill one cup with the water that sprung from the first basin. “They keep the place cool and look quite inviting when I have a guest over. It's a little easier to get my way when they're comfortable.” He pulled an amphora of wine from the cold water and walked over to Crowley.

“Plus,” he added, depositing the drinks on the table next to the angel, “there’s nothing like fresh fruit, you know?”

Crowley laughed and adjusted the drape of his skirts again, wiggling until his deep green petticoat was out of the way. “‘S true, that,” he said with a nod.

“I’ll leave the wine for you to pour at your leisure,” Aziraphale said. “Let me grab you the food.

It didn’t take him long to build a silver tray of figs, nuts, honey, and a few other treats, as well as a finger bowl and cloth for his guest to freshen up with, but he found the angel dozing when he returned.

Not very heavily, of course, and Crowley woke with a start when Aziraphale’s sandals hit the brick patio. Still, the demon felt something in him soften at the sight. That was a perplexing emotion for Aziraphale to have but he pushed it aside to sort out later.

“Long day?” Aziraphale asked, depositing the tray on the table with the cups. He walked over to the pond and opened the sluices a bit to let water run through the patio gutters and eventually to the garden beyond.

The angel nodded muzzily and reached for the water cup. He drained it and put it back on the table. “It’s been a long hundred years or so, really.”

Aziraphale picked up the cup to refill it. “Upstairs has had you busy, eh?”

“Oh, yes,” Crowley replied with a sigh. “They’ve had me running all over the place of late. Athens, Thebes, Sidon, Sicily, and up and down the Nile. But I’m here in Tyre for a bit at least.”

The demon pursed his lips briefly. “Sounds hectic.”

“It is.”

“Well, rest here, dear boy,” Aziraphale smiled warmly at his guest. “I do need to get back to work, though, so I’ll see you in a little while.”

Crowley nodded and then Aziraphale walked back to his workspace.

* * *

* * *

When the demon returned after closing up shop, Crowley was napping again. Aziraphale paused for a moment to take in the sight. The gentle honeyed light of dusk painted his sleep-slack face in warm tones and licked opal orange into his hair. That warm, soft feeling was back, Aziraphale noted with mild concern. The angel slept more deeply this time and Crowley only woke when Aziraphale softly called his name.

“Sorry,” Crowley said, blinking in the fading sun. He blushed a little, perhaps embarrassed he’d been caught sleeping again.

Aziraphale waved him off with amusement. “It is no matter. You were tired and I’m hardly going to begrudge you a nap, especially when I wasn’t here to entertain you.”

Crowley nodded in thanks. “I put the amphora back in the basin, by the way. Seemed rude to let it get warm if I wasn’t going to drink it.”

“I appreciate that,” Aziraphale replied and picked up the platter he’d left for Crowley. “I’ll fetch us a few things and be back in a moment.”

After rinsing off a little inside and refreshing the snack plate and finger bowls, he made his way back outside to Crowley, who looked a little more awake by now. After depositing it on the table, he walked over to the pond to close the sluices and grab the wine. Aziraphale poured them both some from the amphora and settled onto the couch on the other side of the table from the angel. The demon kicked his sandals off and settled half on his side, feet curled up under his garnet linen robe, to face Crowley. 

“Oh, before I forget,” Crowley said and reached for his bag. He rummaged around in it for a moment, and pulled out a small glass jar. “I picked this up for you when I figured out you were in town and decided to come visit.” The angel held it out, golden liquid glowing in the dying light.

“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale said, accepting the jar and looking at it a little more closely. "It's honey, yes?"

Crowley nodded. “I told the merchant that my friend has quite discerning and he suggested that one.” The angel pointed at the jar with his chin. “He said the bees were used in a citron orchard.”

“We’ll have to try it this evening,” Aziraphale said, smiling at the honey and then at the angel.

Crowley took a sip of his wine and waved it off. “The finer nuances will probably be lost on me. I don’t really eat enough to have developed the palate for these things like you have.”

“Very well,” Aziraphale said with a shrug. He peered at his companion and asked, “You never really answered earlier. Not that I’m not pleased to see you, but what brought you here?”

Crowley looked at him and said, “Mostly I felt, well, that I ought to apologize for Babel.”

"I understood why you were so angry. There’s nothing to forgive.” The demon suspected Crowley was not a master a bottling up his emotions. The angel couldn’t admit - even to himself - that God was who he ought to be mad at over Babel and thus Aziraphale had been the convenient scapegoat. Which was not a desirable reaction, either, but one thing at a time.

Crowley’s expression became a little guarded and he examined Aziraphale. “You’re really not mad?”

“Really. Have I ever lied to you?”

“No,” Crowley admitted after a moment, looking over at Aziraphale with a vaguely pained expression. “But there’s always a first and you _are_ a demon.”

“I am, yes, but I rarely lie and really, it’s been three hundred years. That’s an awful long time to hold onto something when all you did was pound on my door and loom angrily.”

“I did _not_ loom.” Crowley grumbled, his expression mulish as he picked up a stuffed date.

“Oh yes, yes you did, my dear boy,” Aziraphale drawled with amusement. “I was reminded more than usual that you're an angel, which was I suppose the point. But,” he continued, “you didn’t attempt to discorporate me or get the humans to do it for you, so why waste the energy on a grudge?”

Crowley tilted his head in acknowledgement and ate another bite of his date.

A thought raised its head in Aziraphale, a question that whispered through his mind and kissed the back of his teeth; _why is an angel apologizing to you?_ “Though,” Aziraphale added, looking at his wine as he swirled the glass in his hand, “I am curious about what compelled you to apologize to a demon.”

After swallowing, Crowley said casually, “I’ve got to have standards. I try to make it right when I make a mistake, even if that means apologizing to somebody like you.”

“Hm, yes.” Hurt flared up in Aziraphale like lit phosphorus and bitter anger swirled in his chest. His lip quirked up and Aziraphale smiled with too many teeth as his eyebrows bumped for a moment. "Even to somebody like _me_." 

"You did ask." The angel looked a little confused.

"I did." Aziraphale took another sip. "Don't think I've ever heard an angel say 'I'm sorry' before. How...novel. But I still have yet to hear an angel _mean_ it."

"I meant it." Crowley had the gall to sound wounded.

"No," Aziraphale replied, looking out at his garden, "I don't think you did." The breeze danced through the greenery and crickets began to chirp.

"You're not making this easy," Crowley grumbled.

"Apologies aren't always _meant_ to be easy, angel. Sometimes they need to be very difficult indeed."

“That’s not true _at all_.”

“Oh, indeed it is,” Aziraphale replied tartly. “A genuine apology that values substance over form is sometimes like wrenching a tooth out of your own head.”

Crowley squinted at Aziraphale from his couch and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. “You _are_ mad.” he said. “Why are you mad if you said there was nothing to apologize for?”

“I am _upset_ ,” Aziraphale replied as he cast his yellow eyes to meet Crowley’s brown ones, “because this ‘apology’,” he gestured between them, “is a form you’re filling out, and about as personally meaningful.” 

“What else am I supposed to _say_ , Aziraphale?” Crowley demanded, his eyebrows drawing together like thunder clouds on a dark horizon. 

“The actual words that came out of your mouth were fine,” Arziraphale said. “It’s your _motive_ that’s the problem. Your motive is what makes it insincere.”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open incredulously. “I,” he said, “apologized because I made a mistake. That’s the only reason I have.”

Aziraphale’s smile was toothy, bitter, and sharp. “Oh, angel, no, that’s it at all. Do you not recall what you said when I asked why?”

Crowley made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. He looked up at the grapevined awning above their heads and then back at Aziraphale. "It was one of your tests, wasn't it?"

"No but if it had been, you would have come up wanting this time," Aziraphale replied when Crowley's expression darkened. 

"I meant it when I apologized." The angel glowered at his wine now. 

"I don't think you did." Aziraphale cooly eyed his companion over the edge of his cup.

"Testing your friends is --"

"Impolite _,_ yes, but you've done this often enough I wouldn't've cared, had it been a test.”

“Then why did you ask?” Crowley glared at him testily from under his red fringe. 

“I was just curious." Aziraphale arched an eyebrow before going on. "And _are_ we friends? Can you be truly be friends with somebody you consider beneath you?"

"Of course we’re friends and I’ve never thought that you're beneath me," Crowley said, his eyes widening in offense and surprise.

"Really?" the demon cut in as his brows rose in incredulity. "Because it doesn’t feel like you’re my friend sometimes. This isn't even the first time, Crowley. _Even if it means apologizing to somebody like you_ ," Aziraphale mimicked in an uncomfortably accurate impression of Crowley's voice. " _I've got to have standards_. I see you're toeing the party line. I'm sure Gabriel is very proud."

Crowley let out a frustrated noise again and put down his cup to rub at his face with both hands. "I deserved that," he said eventually.

"You did." 

"I'm sorry."

"A little early for that, don't you think?" Aziraphale replied, his anger flaring a little before it started to settle down again. "Don't say it until you mean it."

"I _do_ mean--"

"You need to spend some time with what I just said," Aziraphale interrupted. "I accept that you're _abstractly_ sorry but I don't believe you really mean it in here," he said, rapping his chest with a closed fist.

"Alright," Crowley said quietly. He looked over and tried to lighten the mood. "Quite a report for today, hmm? 'caught celestial adversary behaving in unangelic manner.'"

Aziraphale chuckled into his cup. "No," he replied before he finished the dregs of his watered wine, "I'd not be putting this in a report."

"Why not? A nice little feather in your wing." Crowley gave him a lopsided smile.

Aziraphale got up and walked over to the fountain. He rinsed out his cup and filled it with water. "I know you tease but it's a personal matter, isn't it?" He looked over his shoulder at Crowley, a little smile curling his lip. “A tiff between two old friends is hardly something for the head office to need to know.”

The angel gave him another lopsided smile and chuckled, relief skating across his face as the moment passed. “So what have you been doing since I saw you last, you old owl?” Crowley asked as he picked up a cucumber slice with a crumble of herbed goat cheese on it.

“Oh, this and that, if we’re talking strictly shop,” Azirphale replied before he drained his cup and refilled it. “Tempting princes and paupers, nudging things a bit. Mostly busywork. We’re in a bit of a holding pattern at the moment, I think, and anyway, humans outstrip Hell so there's not really _that_ much to do. What about you?”

Crowley nodded as Aziraphale walked back over to their couches. “I’ve been all over the eastern half of the sea over the last 100 years, but mostly I’ve been sailing with merchants from Sidon for the last ten years.”

“How has that been?”

“Alright enough, just never ending. The Greeks are going to be interesting in the next century or so, I think, now that they’ve started picking up Phoenician writing.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley as he sat down on his couch. “They have, have they?” He rubbed at his chin with one hand and hummed. “I’ve always been fond of their poetry. Hopefully they’ll take the tradition of writing every blessed thing down, too.”

Crowley chuckled and picked up his cup again. “I’m sure they will.” He glanced up at Aziraphale and took a sip. 

A relatively comfortable silence reigned for a little, and then Aziraphale asked, “What makes you concerned that your lot are keeping closer tabs than usual on you, if I may ask?”

The angel sighed. “One of my assignments went pear shaped and Gabriel - with his best ‘concerned boss’ face - informed me Heaven would be keeping an eye on me to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“At least he didn’t give you professional development, I suppose?”

“Oh, please, do not even _utter_ those words in my presence right now.” Crowley’s face screwed up in disgust.

“That bad up there, too, is it?” Aziraphale asked with a chuckle.

“That’s the next step,” Crowley replied, sighing dramatically and flopping his arm over his eyes like a fainting maiden. “I would rather be painfully discorporated and spend a year filling out paperwork for a new corporation than go to professional development.”

“Oh, I certainly understand that. Downstairs uses it as a punishment.” Aziraphale nibbled on another stuffed date, crunching the nut between his teeth. 

“What, do they make you work on the right flick for whipping the souls of the damned without giving yourself wrist problems?” Crowley peered out at the demon from under his elbow, one large brown eye glinting in the golden dusk light.

“Ah, no,” Aziraphale replied before licking honey off his thumb. “Last time _I_ went, it was team building activities for a solid decade.”

Crowley winced. “Oh.”

The demon laughed. “Yes, ‘oh’. I am certain that Ligur, who did not like me in the first place, was ready to tear off my head by the end of it. I’m just lucky Hastur wasn’t there, too, or it might’ve happened even with Dagon breathing down everyone’s necks.”

“Why call it ‘team building’ if the point is to punish you?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said mildly, “we demons decided that She hadn’t punished us enough when we fell, so we torture each other, too. And what’s more tortuous than being forced to interact with your coworkers in a deeply artificial context when there’s no way to either leave the situation or react in any way that isn’t manically chipper?”

Crowley’s eyebrows inched together for a moment and then he laughed. “That’s quite true, I suppose.”

“It is!” Aziraphale insisted. “I can just leave Hell altogether if I want when Ligur does something stupid under normal circumstances but Satan help me if we’re at a PD session.” 

Aziraphale waved his wine cup around and took on an aggressively cheerful tone, the kind of cheerfulness that said _or else_ between bloody, clenched teeth, “ _‘Ligur, my favorite thing about you is that you always say what you mean_ .’ He’s so bad a liar that he just doesn’t bother anymore! How can a demon - _a duke of Hell, no less_ \- be so bad at such a basic demonic thing!”

“Do they have professional development for _that?_ ” Crowley asked, the corner of his visible eye crinkled up with mirth. 

“They ought to, just for Ligur.”

Crowley chuckled and moved his arm off his face. “Never thought about the possibility that there are demons who are _bad_ at their jobs,” he said pensively, looking at the grape leaves waving in the breeze.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked. He cocked an eyebrow at his cup and then glanced at the angel. “We’re not…” he groped for an appropriate simile, “demons aren’t like honey bees, with roles we all automatically carry out and do competently.” 

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, mirthful eyes meeting Aziraphale’s over the rim of his cup, “there’s probably a worker bee out there who is really pants at meeting their nectar quota.”

Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes, ignoring the sort of odd squeeze in his chest at Crowley’s expression. “Yes, yes, probably, but you know what I’m getting at.”

“I do.” Crowley nibbled on another slice of cucumber and cheese.

“So how would you explain our little meeting here to your boss, if pressed?” the demon asked after a moment. He glanced over his shoulder at Crowley. Aziraphale hid a smile as the angel wriggled his hips to get his skirt over his feet as night descended.

“Well,” he drawled, “if there’s one thing I _can_ say for Gabriel, utter prat or not, is that he won’t assume I’m up to anything...untoward with you immediately. Likely, I’d tell him I was plying you with drink to see what would fall out of your mouth.”

“Oooh,” Aziraphale laughed. “A regular _spy_ , our Crowley!”

The angel rolled his eyes. “I don’t like it, but--”

“There’s no one else,” Aziraphale cut in, a little melancholy, “no one else who does what we do, in the whole universe.”

“No,” Crowley said, his voice soft as he looked at Aziraphale, “there’s no one else.” 

Something about the look on the angel’s face, his eyes churning with emotion like the sea, his voice, dug at Aziraphale and he tucked it away with the softening from earlier for later examination.

“Micheal would be a bit trickier,” Crowley added after a moment of the thickest tension the demon had endured since Eve pondered the apple. He looked at his skirted knees instead of Aziraphale’s face. “They’re a little more suspicious, but they’re not my direct superior.”

“That’s Gabriel.”

“Right, but Micheal’s got sway over him. They’d only buy it if I came away with some actually useful information.”

Aziraphale grimaced. He’d do a lot for Crowley but he’d be reluctant to give away anything genuinely vital. “Is Gabriel going to go them if he cottoned onto us?”

“Probably not, not unless something earth shaking was going on.”

“Well,” Aziraphale replied, “do let me know if you’re concerned they’re actually onto us. I’ll give you what I can.”

“Really?” Crowley asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Even after our, ah, little tiff?”

Aziraphale took a sip of his wine. “Yes, even after that. I’m certain you’re going to consider what I’ve said to you and, well, as I said - we _are_ friends, even if you disappoint me sometimes.”

The corners of the angel’s eyes crinkled up as he smiled warmly and Aziraphale felt his chest squeeze a little. “Yes, we are.” He glanced skyward. “We’re not, ah, supposed to be but we are.”

“I’m quite the fiend,” Aziraphale replied drolly with an eye roll.

Crowley laughed. “Indeed. Very naughty, you.” He raised an eyebrow and Aziraphale was flooded with a feeling of terrible fondness again. “How about you, how would you explain this to Dagon?”

“Same lie as yours, maybe with some ‘tempting an angel into falling’ thrown in.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Crowley asked unexpectedly, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“What, tempt you?”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together and he huffed at Crowley. “Of course not. The thought of doing that has never even occurred to me.” 

The demon rolled his eyes as Crowley looked relieved. Offense buzzed under Aziraphale’s ribs; it irritated him deeply that Crowley was willing to assume the worst about him so often, but he supposed that was an argument for another day. “Look, dear, you’d _know_ if I were really tempting you. I don’t imagine it would work quite like it does with humans because I probably can’t fully pick you by the hind brain, but I’m reasonably certain you’d still get a little bit of the trance-like effects.”

Crowley nodded and a brief little apologetic smile crossed his face. “Is that what it’s like for them, do you think?, when we do our work?” he asked after a moment. 

Aziraphale shrugged. “I’ve asked. That’s what they’ve all said, more or less. Their little monkey brains suddenly know that Something Important is about to happen,” he said. “Everything gets hyper-real and they go a little trancy as I offer the temptation. I imagine it’s not all that different when you do your work.”

The angel nodded. “Perhaps. Perhaps I’ll ask one of my humans next time I’m Upstairs.”

“‘Your humans’?”

“Yeah, mine. Humans are all so precious. But,” Crowley admitted reluctantly, “I care about the ones I was assigned to a little bit more.”

“They can be enchanting little buggers,” Aziraphale said, dipping his head in agreement. “And you _are_ supposed to be a being of love.”

“I try, anyway,” Crowley said, flushing a little. "Some beings make it hard.”

“Like a certain purple eyed sometimes-man shaped being?”

“Perhaps.” 

* * *

* * *

Later, after Crowley had departed, Aziraphale went out to the patio again with a bowl of stew and more stuffed dates, drizzled this time with the honey the angel had brought him. 

He in general tried to be brutally honest with himself. Seemed hypocritical not to. Aziraphale had, after all, been kicked out of Heaven for questioning _God_ _Herself_ and he was generally of the opinion that one makes fewer mistakes when one is not willfully blind to one's own flaws and motivations. And anyway, he was a demon - whatever weird, discomforting things were inside him weren’t half as weird and discomforting as the rest of the universe.

And so he considered that _softening_ he had felt when he found Crowley dozing on the porch. He spooned up the stew into his mouth and leaned back on his favorite couch. 

The mere idea of having any warm feelings about an angel, even Crowley, was still a bit weird to Aziraphale. Crowley might be the finest one in the whole host but he was still an angel, and on the whole - well, Dagon had been right about angels having a stick up their arses. Crowley did, too, about some things but mostly he was different enough to justify their friendship.

Having Soft Feelings about an angel, and the capitalization felt appropriate, was even weirder; that was certainly what this softening nonsense was about[2]. It had washed over him like a startlingly warm tide, whatever this affection was. Aziraphale considered what kind of feeling this might be; it was more than just garden variety friendliness, whatever it was. 

His experience with affection was fairly limited. The memory of God’s love was still branded into Aziraphale’s mind, but this wasn’t the relentless, sometimes ecstatic thing he remembered. It also wasn’t the vague fondness he felt for humans. This was both less suffocating and far more intimate than either of those things. Just thinking about Crowley conjured up a well of deep, warm fondness in his chest and he was apparently willing to go to stupid lengths for the angel.

Aziraphale squinted up at the stars he could see through the canopy of grape leaves in consternation. The patio was suddenly too crowded. He picked up his supper to continue these thoughts on the roof.

There was a single couch on up there under a small awning and he settled on it. Aziraphale scooped up a chunk of lamb and wished it was winter, so the Pleiades would be visible. He settled for picking out other constellations as the humans of this culture had named them. 

Memories of Heaven before the fall were few; originally Aziraphale had really only remembered asking Her impertinent questions and he’d had a vague sense of what his jobs had been, but otherwise there wasn’t even an itch where something should be. It was just a yawning void and he’d often wondered if his memories had been so tied up in Grace that when it had been stripped, they went with it. 

To Aziraphale’s utter puzzlement, however, another memory had trickled into his head about a millennia or so ago. He’d mostly ignored it because what else was there to do with a memory about making the Pleiades with Crowley? Very specifically, Aziraphale now recalled arguing with the then-other angel about the constellation’s arrangement. 

_“For visual variety,” he argued, crossing his arms and tapping his foot on a hydrogen cloud._

_“There’s so many of them and no one will be able to see all of them if we bunch them up!” Crowley - whatever his Celestial name actually was - insisted, hands thrown up in the air in familiar irritation._

_“How many of these other constellations,” Aziraphale replied patiently, “are all strung out? Almost all of them. Variety will be pleasing to the eye."_

_"Are you saying our project looks_ boring _?" Crowley asked, steely eyed as his wings fluffed up adorably._

_Aziraphale resisted the urge to smooth down Crowley’s plumage. "No, dear, I'm not saying that. I'm saying we should add some variety to_ keep _it from being boring.” He waved a hand at their project stars: a few brightened to varying degrees as hydrogen streamed into them from the cloud under his foot, “Now we’ve got seven bright ones.”_

_Crowley made a frustrated noise in his throat and shook his head. “Look, now you've thrown off the elemental chemistry! It took ages to get that right and we’re not even done with the rest yet.” He pointed at the dimmest of the stars Aziraphale had modified. “That one needs even more work now!”_

_Aziraphale rolled his eyes dramatically. “Then let’s get back to work, shall we? We can keep arguing about the arrangement later.”_

Aziraphale’s vision was good enough he could see more than just the seven - he focused on the soft indigo sky and counted fifteen he could easily see. The demon had often wondered if that argument had happened right before he fell. Of the brightest in the cluster, one was still dimmer than the others and he knew many humans had trouble seeing it. Crowley was the sentimental sort who wouldn’t finish it without his partner.

Aziraphale and Crowley had slotted together from the beginning eerily well for an angel and a demon, despite working for opposing offices. The fact that he was a demon was never far from the angel’s mind but he’d nevertheless been responsive to Aziraphale’s overtures. Crowley even made them first sometimes. 

The angel had always been kind to him even though he’d known _exactly_ what and who Aziraphale was and for his part, Aziraphale hadn’t even thought twice about sheltering Crowley from the rain. If the memory was anything to go by, the pair of them had been close before Aziraphale fell. Perhaps that deep and abiding well of fondness the demon felt around Crowley was the rekindling of that more intimate friendship. 

That was enough introspection for the night, he decided as his heart beat a bittersweet tattoo in his chest. The thought of so much lost time wasn’t worth further consideration at the moment and Crowley’s expression was a new puzzle. Aziraphale poked at it for a little, pondering the strange light in the angel’s eyes when he’d said, ‘ _there’s no one else_.’ He put aside the now empty bowl and picked up one of the dates, licking the honey off one. The smooth-crinkle texture of the date's skin against his tongue was delightful and he savored the light citrus flavor to the honey. It was mild and probably the best he’d eaten in a long time. Aziraphale would have to get the merchant’s name next time he saw the angel.

That queer look on Crowley’s face spoke of complicated emotion; his eyes had roiled with feeling like the sea in a storm and it was almost impossible to pick them all out. Pain was the clearest but it was tied up in another that Aziraphale couldn’t quite name. That second feeling, whatever it was, pulled at his soul like the sea at the shore and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

Aziraphale wondered, for a moment, if Crowley might also feel the same. He turned the idea over in his mind, letting the light of heart-squeezing hope shine through the notion. Then, being a practical being above all else, he discarded it. For now, anyway, Crowley was too hung up on what Aziraphale was and he could accept that for a while longer.

* * *

* * *

1 The sinus was part of Phoencian women’s dress. Excess fabric was folded up to gather it beneath the chest in a manner similar to a belt. Roman togas had a similar element - it’s the foldy bit over the wearer’s middle.[return to text]

2This is despite the fact that capital letters were not to be invented for a very long time, but being of angelic stock gave one some advance knowledge.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is an INTERLUDE and should be up soonish.


	4. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley considers Aziraphale's words and what has remained constant.

Crowley sighed as he kicked the door shut after he entered his stiflingly hot home. Aziraphale had once again insisted that he take an amphora of wine home as a welcome-to-Tyre gift and he deposited it in his little kitchen. It really  _ was _ very good wine - the demon never stocked anything but. Crowley dropped his bag carelessly on a foot stool and immediately spidered up the ladder to his much cooler roof.

A cool, salty breeze gusted in from the sea and Crowley took a deep breath of it as it whispered across his sweaty skin. He sprawled out on the rooftop couch and looked across the channel to the glittering island section of the city, where Aziraphale lived[11] . Crowley grimaced when he thought of the argument earlier in the evening. They had smoothed things over for the moment but his friend had given him a fair number of things to consider, even though it rankled that he’d been lectured on the nature of forgiveness by a  _ demon _ .

He was loathe to admit that Aziraphale was probably right, too.

It was one thing, he supposed, to be reluctant to admit being in the wrong - almost everybody hated admitting when they were, mortal or immortal. It was another thing to not want to admit wrongdoing because of what Aziraphale now  _ was _ . Which was a terrible and terribly odd thing to think about him because Crowley still loved the old owl. Yet here he was, thinking about how much he detested being corrected because a demon was doing it.

After the fall, Heaven had immediately started beating the drums of war. A slow tune, because the final crescendo was in the far future and there was a Plan to follow first, but it was righteous and proud. Each bar said that demons were worthless traitors to God, who were uniformly incapable of goodness or love. Demons would be ground under the heels of the Host in the final confrontation and they would deserve obliteration. Crowley had listened to that battle music for an untold length of time. 

Seeing Aziraphale that first time at the wall had been difficult. Sunlight had lit his hair up like yellow dwarf suns always had and then Crowley had beheld his eyes. The citrine yellow of them had made him suck in a sharp breath of air he didn’t need and then Aziraphale’s unthinking kindness of sheltering Crowley from the rain had been shocking in the best way. The angel had shoved the feelings down as they rose. When the demon had taken his leave, Crowley had slumped against the wall and let downpour soak him to the bone. He hadn’t felt so alone since Aziraphale had fallen.

Dealing with him had gotten a little easier with time, until he did something that reminded Crowley sharply of the angel he had known. That last time he’d seen Aziraphale, a few days before the Deluge, had dragged up memories of Aziraphale’s time as an angel to the fore and left Crowley feeling like a coward. 

_ He let out a bitter laugh. “I see She hasn’t changed,” he said. “Cruel as ever.” _

_ “I’m not consulted on policy decisions,” Crowley bit out, heart aching. _

_ “And yet,” Aziraphale said, tucking his hands behind his back, “and yet you go along with them, even when they go against what I  _ know _ you believe in.” _

_ “What am I  _ supposed _ to do?” Crowley’s body flooded with hot shame, belly twisting up like a snake inside him. _

_ Aziraphale shrugged, a kind of sardonic smile hovering around his lips. “What do  _ you _ think you should do, angel?” He turned on his heel sharply and walked off without another word.  _

The core sense of justice that had motivated Aziraphale in Heaven hadn’t been burnt out when he fell and Crowley had his suspicions about what happened next. A number of children had gone missing the day before the rains swept in and later, he’d noticed a number of humans who were  _ definitely _ not Noah’s descendants. Aziraphale had somehow managed to save an unknown number of them and God had let him do it. It must be part of the Ineffable Plan, Crowley supposed. If She had not drowned Aziraphale and his little flock - and there was no way She wouldn’t have noticed them - that’s exactly what She had intended him to do.

Aziraphale had occasionally suggested he had not, actually, gone against God’s plan for him when he’d asked  _ why _ She must test humans so harshly. Crowley was beginning to suspect the demon was right.    
  


After listening to Aziraphale talk about his Hellish colleagues, Crowley was certain that there were plenty of demons who  _ were _ evil but the angel was keenly aware that Aziraphale wasn’t. A hundred little things told him that - the other Deluge survivors, his clear revulsion at cruelty, the care with which he treated Crowley, and the fondness Aziraphale expressed for humans. Not to mention that the admittedly few other demons Crowley had encountered stank of evil and cruelty but at most, Aziraphale smelled like a little bit of malice and a lot of mischief. He was certainly a demon but unique nevertheless.

Falling had changed Aziraphale. You couldn’t strip something as integral to the nature of an angel as Grace and expect an identical person afterwards. He was jagged at the edges, harsher, angry, and bitter now, but the thoughtfulness, generosity, and core compassion that Crowley had loved him for had all survived, even if they were a little distorted now. 

_ Even someone like you _ echoed in Crowley’s head and he swallowed. A look of deep hurt had flashed across Aziraphale’s face before he had set his jaw and given the angel the kind of smile that tasted like cyanide[12]time was invented.">2] . It had felt like an unusual and mercurial shift in the demon’s mood at the time but in hindsight, had the sandal been on the other foot, Crowley would have felt just as insulted. Especially if Aziraphale had been ostensibly apologizing to him for unjustly taking out his anger on the angel. 

The urge to apologize had been correct but it had been rooted in a formula and he hadn’t taken the time to consider Aziraphale’s feelings beyond ‘he’s probably mad.’ Crowley  _ should _ have considered whether Aziraphale would have felt threatened by an aggressive angel, whether it would be a kind of betrayal of their renewed and somewhat delicate friendship. It might have been an almost easy bond to start but the simple nature of what they were now made it fragile; easy to tear beyond repair, no matter how Crowley felt about Aziraphale.

He looked up at the stars, something he rarely did, and searched for familiar shapes in the midsummer sky. Aziraphale and Crowley had made a number of constellations together: the pole star, the Bear, Orion, Leo, and others. And the Pleiades, which wouldn’t be visible until fall and winter, when sailing season started. The Pleiades, which had been their last project together, had always made his heart pang in particular. He’d left them exactly as they were that final time, unable to finish the cluster, and moved on to Alpha Centauri.

He would apologize,  _ properly, _ at the next opportunity.

* * *

A few weeks later, Crowley turned up on Aziraphale’s doorstep again in the early hours of the morning. The cold blue light of dawn was just starting to creep over the horizon, creeping thready fingers between the stars Crowley tried not to look at when he could. 

“Oh, good morning,” Aziraphale greeted, leaning on the door jamb as he peered at the angel in the watery light. Kyphi incense drifted out over his shoulder and Crowley took a deep lungful of the warm, woody scent as the demon gestured him inside.

“Good morning,” Crowley returned and clasped his hands behind his back. “May we talk?” he asked as he followed his friend inside.

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, turning his head unnaturally far to look over his shoulder. 

_ It’s just Aziraphale,  _ Crowley reminded himself when his corporation’s lower brain fear shrieked. He was grateful when the demon turned his head the right way round and quietly led the way through the shop to the back patio again.

Aziraphale gestured at the couches. “Pick one,” he said. “Care for some warm spiced wine?”

“That would be lovely,” Crowley replied, gingerly settling on the same one he’d sat on last time and wrapping his shawl a little tighter around his shoulders. It was bloody chilly this morning.

Aziraphale fussed at his cabinet for a moment before ambling over with two cups. 

“Bit earlier than I would have expected to see you,” he said as he passed Crowley the fragrant drink and sat. “I don’t know if you make a habit of sleeping but I rarely saw you before mid morning in Babel.”

Crowley cradled the cup in his hands, savoring the warmth against his fingers. “Still used to the merchant’s schedule,” he said. It was true enough.

After taking a sip and humming with pleasure, the demon leaned back into his couch and closed his eyes with a sigh. Crowley took a moment to really look at him, taking in the way the cold dawn light brushed his fair hair and skin with aqua and his full figure was draped in a dark silk shawl. He looked peaceful in a way Crowley had rarely seen. Earth suited him right down to the marrow of his soul and it struck the angel silent for a moment.

“Cat got your tongue, dear?” Aziraphale asked after a moment, all cheeky smile and sly yellow eyes.

Crowley’s lip twitched. “Maybe.”

The demon chuckled and took another sip of wine. “I was just about to eat. Would you care to join?”

“I would,” Crowley agreed and took a sip of his wine. The cinnamon was particularly warming he decided as the demon snapped.

The same silver tray from last time appeared on the table between them with a soft pop. 

“Roasted barley porridge,” Aziraphale said and gestured at the bowl closest to Crowley. “It’s very good with figs and honey, if I do say so.” He picked up a smaller bowl and dumped some of the figs into his breakfast and then spooned a little honey on top.

Crowley smiled again as Aziraphale took a bite and groaned. This was a new, comparatively speaking, little habit of the demon’s and it was weirdly endearing. He took such  _ pleasure _ in earthly comforts and it was nice to see him enjoying himself.

The porridge was pretty good; intensely flavorful and toothsome, and the figs did add a lovely texture to the meal. Crowley found himself humming in surprise.

“Isn’t it good?” Aziraphale asked after swallowing his bite. He looked extremely pleased when Crowley nodded and a little smug too, because he wasn’t Aziraphale if he wasn’t occasionally a little smug.

Taking another bite, Crowley chuckled. “I see why you like it.” Aziraphale smiled at the angel and here was a long moment of quiet while they ate. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last time and,” Crowley said after a while, watching Aziraphale carefully, “what you said was true. I didn’t think about you, really, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I loomed at you when I was angry and I’m sorry that I was thoughtlessly cruel when I tried to apologize. I’ll do my best not to repeat that in the future.”

Aziraphale tilted his head at Crowley and gave him an assessing look. It was a little like being pinned to the couch and left the angel feeling vulnerable. “You’re forgiven,” Aziraphale said after a moment, giving him a slow smile, and Crowley felt a wave of gentle warmth roll over him as something unknotted in his chest.

* * *

11 Tyre was originally divided into two sections: one was on the mainland, the other on an island. And then Alexander the Great decided he wasn’t going to let a little thing like the  _ sea _ deter him from conquering the city, so he turned it into a peninsula after destroying the mainland part.[return to text]

12Humans would pick it up as a micro expression, if they were lucky, but angels are a little more perceptive when they made an effort to practice. Crowley has been practicing the art of reading Aziraphale since before the construct of _time_ was invented.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be periodic interludes bc I want Crowley's perspective here but I didn't start this with a omniscient perspective and hate bouncing between characters within a chapter, so here we are. Unfortunately, updates will be even slower from like the end of the month on out bc work. I'll try to get chapter 4 finished (it is about idk 60% done I think) but I make exactly 0 promises. I do have another fic to update. Both chapters would already be completed but it has been one thing after another this month.


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